Michael chose the cigar, Oliva Serie V Maduro Especial, a real bold cigar that does just that; delivers flavor and body. Michael states that the oiliness of the Maduro wrapper, combined with the full flavored Nicaraguan binder and fillers fills his cigar appetite. Similar to when one is famished for food and sits down to a great meal. Michael really enjoys it with a great café con leche, made with an extra shot of espresso, which compliments the richness of the Oliva V Maduro and also imparts a creaminess to the palate.

“I love the Asylum 13 because of its big full bodied flavor. This is one of my favorite cigars, not only because of the full flavor, but the quality of construction and spiciness. It finishes well without the ubiquitous bitterness found in a lot of cigars.”
I really enjoy this smoke with King Corona’s Café con Leche because the Ybor Blend coffee they use to make it is, like the Asylum 13, full flavored, rich and smooth. The cream of the Café con Leche compliments both the Asylum 13 and the Ybor Blend coffee. While I do smoke a lot of different cigars at King Corona, the Asylum 13 and King Corona Café con Leche is my go to.”

I wanted to name the store something that had to do with cigars, preferably a cigar name like Churhill or something. At the time there was another cigar store in Ybor that was doing the same thing with a great name, Perfectos (which is a cigar size). Churchill has been overused in the industry so I and a long time friendwho ended up working for me here for 14 years started brainstorming.

The word “corona” is used in the cigar industry for a medium sized cigar, so it was recognizable. Translated from Spanish it means “crown”. It also is used in the growth of tobacco in Latin America as the top of the plant. I didn’t want to just use the word corona by itself, I wanted to combine it with something else, I considered “Kid Corona Cigars”, but it sounded a little juvenile, then I thought of the old Elvis Presley (King of Rock n Roll) movie “King Creole. King Corona. Sounded good together, I thought.

Also, since the Spanish word corona meant crown, it just seemed to go together. Joe Howden, the old friend of mine, and I worked though this process one day at Home Depot in about 10 minutes. I’ve received many compliments over the years about the name. It’s regal, like Ybor City is. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.

Legend has it that the cigar was invented in 1987 by Joe Howden of Ybor City….no, wait, that’s not right… The first cigar smokers are generally acknowledged to be a splinter group of Mormons that refused to go to Salt Lake Cigar because of the absence of fine tobacco…hmmm. That doesn’t sound correct either.

The actual truth is that, when it comes to the origins of the cigar, your guess is as good as mine. Wait – that might not be on the money, either. My guess is probably better than yours, because I spent 4 hours researching the subject.

Here’s some stuff we do know –

The Mayans had a word, sicar, that supposedly meant “to smoke rolled tobacco leaves”, but then again, who believes anything the Mayans say anymore. There is a ceramic pot that was discovered in Guatemala that dates to the tenth century which depicts a Mayan smoking tobacco leaves tied together with a string. This method is still sold to tourists by some of the smaller cigar shops along Seventh Avenue today.

Columbus gets the call for bringing tobacco to Europe. During his voyage of 1492, two of Columbus’ crewmen, Rodrigo de Jerez and Luis de Torres, encountered tobacco for the first time on the Island of Hispanola, which is now Haiti and the Dominican Republic. The natives presented them with dry leaves that spread a peculiar fragrance. Once Rodrigo and Luis got over the munchies, they brought some back to Columbus. He took it along home since the leaves did not take much room and didn’t cut into the space he needed for all the looting he was doing. Besides, it had a calming effect on his crew, who would partake and then sit around listening to accordion music and playing with their sextons for hours at a time. All thoughts of mutiny had vanished!

In due course, as all things must, smoking tobacco became a fad, popular among the Spanish and other European sailors. When not enslaving the Incas and destroying centuries of their indigenous culture, the Conquistadors in South America would sit back, put their feet up and puff away. Cigar popularity soared and spread to France, brought by the French ambassador to Portugal, Jean Nicot, a man we still honor today with the always amusing term of “nicotine”.

Now you know as much as me.

Except for this:

Sigmund Freud smoked 20 cigars a day and had a difficult time finding someone who would kiss him.

Ulysses S. Grant smoked up to 12 cigars a day. He’d spend hours in his tent with his officers, talking about current events and looking things up on Google.

Groucho Marx once told a woman contestant on “You Bet Your Life” who had eight children and said she loved her husband, that he loved his cigar but he took it out of his mouth once in a while.

Queen Victoria banned all tobacco from her court, but when, upon her death from grouchiness, her son, the Prince of Wales, ascended to the throne he immediately proclaimed, “Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em, men!” By the way, that’s exactly why Vicente Martinez Ybor named the cigar he produced in Ybor City “The Prince of Wales”. Senor Ybor was known for his wry wit.

Well, if you got ‘em, you can smoke ‘em too, and if you don’t, visit Don Barco at King Corona. He’ll set you up.

A cigar store doesn’t seem complete without a wooden Indian standing guard at the door watching over the cache of meticulously rolled and aged tobacco. While we all have come to expect its warm greeting at most fine cigar establishments, we may not know why or how this iconic tradition came to be.

It was the American Indians that first introduced tobacco to the Europeans. The earliest known use of the Indian as a figure for cigar stores dates back to the 17th century when the wooden figures were much smaller and placed on countertops.

The commercial sailing ships that transported tobacco from Europe to America were adorned with beautifully carved figureheads on the bow of the ships. As steam vessels made sailing ships obsolete, woodcarvers had to find new ways to make a living. They turned their craft to carving Indians for cigar stores.

Just as pawnshops used three gold balls and barbershops used barber poles to advertise to the illiterate, so did cigar stores with their Indians. Most residents in America in the late 19th century couldn’t read “Tobacconist Shop”, so these Indians took the place of written signs signaling where to buy cigars.

As the woodcarvers competed against themselves for business, the Indians became more detailed and elaborate. The more beautiful the Indian, the more memorable the cigar store. The cigar store Indian soon became the mark of quality cigars and complemented the experience of buying and enjoying cigars. These wooden figures are still treasures to today’s avid collectors.

While there have been many ways that Native Americans have been portrayed that have caused some frustration, anger and shame, the symbol of the cigar store Indian actually pays homage to America’s connection to it’s Native American introduction to tobacco. While the Native Americans usually used tobacco in sacred ceremonies and to seal deals.

It was believed that tobacco is a gift from the Creator, and that the exhaled tobacco smoke carries one’s thoughts and prayers to heaven.

While times have changed and also the use of tobacco, the cigar store Indian is a long standing symbol of respect to the Native Americans who shared their customs with our ancestors.

Jason is a valued staffer at King Corona Cigars and is from Tampa, a graduate of Jesuit High School and is one heck of a guitarist. If you find Jason and Don together for more than 30 seconds, they are probably talking about music or cigars.

Jason is doing this month’s pairing suggestion for us.

One of his favoritepairings is the A. Fuente Chateau Fuente maduro, which is a robusto shape. Jason says what he loves about the beautiful madurowrapper on the Chateau Maduro is he finds it sugary and not full bodied. He loves having a Chateau Fuente maduro with King Corona’s famous Café Corona, a variation of café con leche, made with King Corona’s very own Ybor Blend espresso and topped off with Cowgirl Chocolate’s delicious Spicy Caramel Sauce, which adds depth and spiciness to the Chateau Fuente maduro cigar.

It was close to noon. The usual suspects were on the patio. Five middle-aged regulars, in business casual, all smoking their daily cigars and leering after each, near-underage female who passed by. A guy in dreadlocks, imitating a latter-day hippie, sipped his cafe con leche, sucked on his cigarette, and talked intently to his waif of a girlfriend as his hand stroked her jean-clad inner-thigh.A panhandler walked by slowly, hoping to get a handout without drawing the attention of employees inside.

I passed through the door, and the sunlight disappeared, changing to a smoky semi-darkness with sounds of hushed voices coming from several huddled groups. Behind the cigar counter stood Juan, a fixture there for years who was now branching out into guiding ghost tours of Ybor. Juan was one of those guys who always had stories to tell. I hadn’t gone on one of the tours. Why should I? I could come into KC and hear the stories for free. Over the previous months Juan’s ghost stories had changed. He no longer seemed to tell them for fun. He was now more like an evangelical preacher. He leaned into you, telling his stories with a passion, and sharing the latest evidence he could dig up.

In the corner window sat Al Fuente in his resplendent yellow sports coat with its matching fedora on the table. He held a lit cigar in his right hand but it somehow looked more like a prop for a photograph than something he was really smoking. Al was the big man on Cuba politics in Ybor and beyond. He had traveled to Cuba repeatedly in his quest to see our policies toward the island nation brought into the 21st Century. Al was intimately familiar with all the players and was passionate to the point of being a lightening rod in the eyes of many. I considered him a friend and would normally have sat down with him, except that he was sitting with two men I did not know. They seemed to be deep into a conversation, so I decided to join him later.

I instead found a window seat by the door, ordered my coffee, expecting soon to be joined by friends eager to debate the latest political issues. Tony, the owner, came in from the back.I pulled out a chair in anticipation. He hesitated before he came over, seeming grim and pre-occupied. Finally, he sat down but barely acknowledged my greeting. He was turned askew toward the front door and only answered my comments and questions with a brief yes or no–quite unusual behavior for him.

Pepe Mendez came in and glanced our way. I had known Pepe for several years and thought he would come over to greet us. He was the owner of America’s only three language radio station and carrier of the flame for Ybor renaissance. He was also friends with Al and a fellow crusader for normalization of relations with Cuba.Instead of joining us, he looked only at Tony. I thought I saw Tony nod slightly. Pepe then continued to the back of the store. I figured he needed to go to the restroom and would be back shortly.

Three men I had never seen came in and found seats near the back. Once seated, they seemed to study each person in the place.

After several minutes of distracted conversation, Tony abruptly said he needed to do something in the back, got up, and left. No goodbyes, no promises to see me later, nothing.

I sat and tried to read the paper but I couldn’t concentrate. I felt very uncomfortable. For the first time ever, I felt that I didn’t belong in this place. I didn’t feel connected to the people around me. There was one exception. When I looked over at Juan standing behind the counter, he smiled. It was a strange, calm, almost all knowing smile. I decided I would go over and talk to him but first I had to take a piss.

I got up and headed for the restroom hoping that Pepe would be done by the time I got there. I walked past the threesome who had come in earlier but their glares made me a little self-conscious and added to my discomfort.Ahead of me I saw that the restroom door was open. I briefly wondered what had happened to Pepe. How could he have left without my seeing him?

Standing in front of the urinal, I realized that I was glad to be in the room alone. At the sink, I purposely took a long time washing. As I did, a feeling of anxiety seemed to flow out of my body as steadily as the water washed off my hands. What was going on out there? Was it me, or was everyone in the place behaving strangely? Perhaps I had been uptight when I first entered and created the negative reactions in my own mind. I would leave the bathroom with a smile on my face, sit down with some friends, and enjoy the next couple of hours.

When I emerged from the restroom, the three men were gone.That was strange. They had just been served. Two thirds of a cigar was lying across an ashtray, and their drinks were still mostly full. I hadn’t been in the bathroom that long. How could they have wound up their conversation, paid their bill, and disappeared already?No matter, I squinted my eyes to see into the front corner. I would join Al and his two companions. But, they, too, were gone. In fact, the place was empty. There was only Juan at the cigar counter and the beautiful Sabina on the opposite side, behind the bar. How could things have changed in the place in such a short time?

Behind me, I heard a muffled “Oh shit!” followed by a scraping sound. It sounded like Tony, the owner. It came from beyond the bathroom, from a back room with stairs that went up to the second floor office. Most of us never felt welcome to go back there, but it sounded as if Tony might need some help. As I walked past the bathrooms, I heard the scraping sound again.I called his name but all was quiet.

The room was small, dark, and a little damp. It had just enough space for the stairs, an alarmed emergency escape to the alley, and a few boxes of kitchen supplies stacked against a wall. Strangely, two boxes had fallen and were blocking the stairs. I bent to pick them up and saw that the box they had been sitting on sat ajar from its place against the wall. I started to put the boxes back into place when I saw that a small section of the wall seemed to be pushed out and there was a sliver of light coming out of a narrow crack.

I glanced around quickly, feeling as if I were doing something wrong, as if I had my hand in Grandma’s secret cookie jar. This wasn’t my place. What right did I have?

My curiosity was too great. My hand shook as I stuck my fingertips into the crack to see if I could pry it open. Slowly, I pulled a four by three foot section of the wall out. It scraped against the floor, sounding similar to what I had heard earlier. A dim light filtered out. I leaned forward and peered in. A ladder extended down about 10 feet. I thought I heard some distant noises, maybe voices. I knew I had to go down. My heart was pounding, and I was sweating profusely.As I got onto the ladder I could see a handle that allowed me to pull the section of wall closed. I wasn’t sure that this was a good idea, so I pulled it part way. Again, there was the scraping sound.

I took the steps slowly as I was constantly looking behind me to see what I was getting into.As I neared the bottom, I could see that I was in a tunnel. A single electrical cord with periodic dim lights ran down the middle of the ceiling. The tunnel wasn’t wide. I could almost touch the walls if I reached out on both sides. It seemed to range from about six to seven feet in height. The walls and ceiling were supported by wood framing and were clearly built a long time ago. I couldn’t see well but it seemed to go on for quite a long distance and then split in two.

Then it hit me.

Were these the infamous Ybor tunnels from the 1920s and 30s? I had heard variations on the tunnel stories many times. Some say the tunnels provided escape routes for those involved in illegal activities. When the police would arrive expecting to corner six boozed up gamblers in the back of some store, they would find nothing. In the meantime, the six men would calmly walk out of a supermarket across the street. It was said that the tunnels were also used to store liquor during Prohibition.Some doubted whether the tunnels existed at all. But most agreed that if they had ever existed, they were long gone. How far did this one go, and why was it lit?

I walked cautiously. There was trash and jagged outcroppings.As I reached the point where the tunnel split, I heard more noise off to the left. This time I was sure that I was hearing voices, angry voices. I kept walking but very slowly. I was getting scared.The voices were getting clearer. They were mostly in Spanish with just periodic words in English. I thought I also heard Italian, at times, but wasn’t sure. The tunnel turned right and as I edged forward it seemed to be opening into a larger space. I knew I wasn’t far from the men and wasn’t sure that I should move further. They sounded really angry and might not react well to an intrusion. There were more noises followed by a couple of thuds. Was someone being hit? Then I heard the words, “mother-fucker I am going to kill you.”

I had to get out. I couldn’t make any noise. In my panic I hardly knew what I was doing, but at some point I started to run, then stumble, then run more. My fear worsened as I realized it was taking longer to get back to the entry point than it should. Had I passed it or taken a wrong turn? Wherever I was, it was getting darker and harder to see where I was going. My foot went down suddenly and I fell forward. I started to get up but something was on my leg. I hit at it. It was inside my pant leg. I felt a sudden pain in my calf as I hit at it again. It dropped down out of my pants and ran. I just got a glimpse but it appeared to be a very large rat. I struggled to get up. I started to run before I fully got my footing and fell into the wall.

“How in the hell did you do that? “It was Tony, King Cigar’s owner, sitting next to me at a back table. He was holding a cloth to my head. There were a couple of drops of blood on the table in front of me. Tony was apologetic. He said nobody had actually seen me fall but they think I stumbled on a power cord that was temporarily lying across the hall in front of the bathroom. I then apparently hit my head on a table as I fell. I had been out cold.

Everything seemed muddled but as I sat there my anxiety took over. Memories of the men in the tunnel came flowing back.

I grabbed Tony’s arm and pulled his hand away from my head. “No, it wasn’t the cord, it was in the tunnel.” He asked what the hell I was talking about. I tried to get up and head for the back room but I was dizzy. I tried again, this time keeping my hands on the wall for support. “Tony, come look.”

When we reached the boxes in the back, they were stacked neatly. I got down on my knees and pulled them away from the wall. Nothing. Yes, the wall was old and full of cracks and crevasses but I couldn’t see a place to pull a section open. Tony asked what the hell I was doing. I tried to explain but he interrupted and said I was confused from the fall. He insisted we go back out to the front and sit down.

Out in the cafe, he guided me to a seat near the back. My head was throbbing. I was confused. Several people came to the back and asked if I was okay. Tony told each of them that I would be fine and waived them off. Juan had remained at the front as others came and checked on me. After some time Tony got up and said he needed to take care of something but would be right back. I put my hands to my head and leaned forward on the table. My head continued to throb. I closed my eyes and slumped forward to the tabletop.

Then I heard Juan’s voice, “You saw them, didn’t you?”

I lifted my head slightly and forced my eyes partially open. Juan’s slightly rotund figure blocked the sunlight coming from the front windows. I let my eyes close again momentarily and moved my head to the right and then the left shoulder trying to relieve the pain.

What was Juan asking?

I pushed myself up straight in the chair and opened my eyes to answer. Nobody was there. I looked around in a panic.

Tony walked up behind me. “How are you feeling?” I had trouble catching my breath and found it hard to talk. “Tony, where is Juan?”

“Don’t you remember? Juan hasn’t worked here for several weeks. He has been too busy doing those ghost tours.”

Absolute fear gripped me. Was I losing it? What had I seen or not seen? I closed my eyes again and tried to get control. I felt the pain throb in my head but also became aware of additional pain, a pain in my leg. My pant leg felt wet. I looked down and saw blood spots and a tear in my pants. I pulled my leg up to get a closer look. Scratches, and what appeared to be, a small bite.

The info on Ali Jenzarli PHD.: Mr. Jenzarli is a long time customer of King Corona Cigars and has lived in Tampa since 1993 having taught at University of Tampa for all of his time here. Ali takes great pleasure in cigar smoking and is what I would call a true connoisseur of cigars, wines, food and life in general. He is one who takes his cigar smoking seriously.

One of his favorite pairings of cigars and drink is as follows: Cigar- Don Barco Drink- double espresso. He tells us that smoking a Don Barco cigar with a cup of King Corona “Ybor Brand” espresso reminds him of the treat of being a child and drinking a cup of rich Lebanese coffee while dunking his favorite chocolate cookie into it. That’s what he says it reminds him of and who are we to question him?

]]>http://kingcoronacigars.com/ali-jenzarli-pairing/feed/0Welcome to Cigar Musingshttp://kingcoronacigars.com/cigar-musings/
http://kingcoronacigars.com/cigar-musings/#commentsWed, 22 May 2013 14:27:49 +0000http://kingcoronacigars.com/?p=451Welcome to Cigar Musings, a collection of anecdotes and stories, both fictional and non-fictional, by myself and some of my friends who frequent King Corona on a regular basis. I will be posting these stories so stay tuned!

One of the things I love is a good story and over the years I’ve heard quite a few from the people I’ve been lucky enough to meet. Since most of the stories have been related to me in here in my cigar store, I thought it only appropriate that Cigar Musings be cigar related. That doesn’t mean one has to be a cigar smoker to tell their story, but it should have something to do with cigars. Not all of my friends are cigar smokers, but if they’re telling me a story in my cigar store, well, you get the picture…

My favorite cigar related story involves Jose Marti and Ybor City. For those of you not familiar with Ybor City, a short history lesson is in order.

In the late 1880’s the cigar industry was introduced to Tampa, Fl by one Vicente Martinez Ybor, a cigar manufacturer from Key West by way of Cuba, by way of Spain. He struck a land deal with the City of Tampa and that land eventually became Ybor City. He brought cigar makers from Cuba, Spain and later Italy and Ybor City became a very special place, a blending of different cultures which produced it’s own culture of Tampeno; things indigenous to Tampa, like the Cuban Sandwich and Spanish Bean Soup. The story of Ybor City is a special story and I will tell more of that story at a later date, but now back to Jose Marti.

Jose Marti has been called the “George Washington” of Cuba. He was a very gifted writer who, at an early age got into trouble with the Spanish, who ruled Cuba at that time, for his political views. He was jailed, and later exiled to Spain. In his life he was a poet, essayist, philosopher, as well as the voice of freedom for Spanish Americans. He later lived in New York and wrote for a newspaper there and traveled to South and Central America, writing extensively of freedom from dictatorships for Spanish Americans, and returned to New York.

Growing up in Tampa with so many Cubans, I came to realize that Jose Marti was very important to them. Years later I saw a documentary and was amazed to discover that Marti felt that the Tampa Cubans in particular were extremely important to him. Here’s why.

In Cuba in the latter part of the 19th century, the dissatisfaction with Spanish rule had grown to a boiling point and rebellion was inevitable. Marti was a lightning rod for the rebels and he was committed to the fight for Cuban independence.

Marti visited Ybor City on more than one occasion and was overwhelmed by the support and admiration of the Cuban cigar rollers who worked in Ybor City’s cigar factories. In 1893, Marti returned to raise support for the revolution and on the steps of the V.M. Ybor cigar factory he delivered a famous passion filled speech, that so roused the cigar rollers that they pledged a day’s pay each to the cause of the revolution. The next part of the story is what gripped me and made this my favorite “cigar story”.

The details of when the revolution was to begin were guarded closely, understandably so, as one could be executed if caught sympathizing with the rebels. A clandestine approach had to be employed to insure safety. According to local history, the message to start the revolution was rolled inside a cigar packed in a box of cigars that was made right here in Ybor City! Right here in Ybor City! This is an amazing piece of history that connects my hometown to the life of this incredible man and his loyal supporters!

In my first years in the cigar industry we had a cigar store in the old V.M. Ybor factory. I can’t tell you the number of times I would take a lunch break in the courtyard and think to myself, “if these walls could only speak”. When I read of this marvelous story, it only increased my fascination of Marti and the early Cubans settlers in Ybor City. The walls didn’t speak, but their brave exploits did.
Sadly, Marti and many supporters from Ybor City would die in Cuba’s battle for independence, dying as heroes.

Today in Ybor City, just across the street from the old V.M. Ybor cigar factory, where his famous speech was delivered, is the site of the Jose Marti Park. In the middle of the park is a statue of the courageous Marti, his hand extended, beckoning the call of freedom.

I have greatly condensed Marti’s life, and this is merely a thumbnail sketch of Marti, but by no means should his body of work be diminished. I highly recommend further reading of Marti’s life and work.
There has been much written about him, but for me his own words speak the loudest. His demands for freedom and fairness are still words to be taken seriously and I highly recommend Jose Marti: Writings on the Americas.

That, my friends is one hell of a good “cigar musing”. I plan to offer more of these in the future, and hope you enjoy them as I do.
~Don Barco
Comments are welcome.